Meeting
by Rydia Highwind
Summary: A Turk meets his prey. I can't say much more without giving the plot away.


Title: Meeting  
Author: Rydia Highwind / chichiri_is_hot@hotmail.com  
Summary: I really can't say much without giving everything away. Sorry.  
Disclaimer: I don't own any of them, I just threw them into a situation together and tried to figure out what might happen in said situation.  
Notes: I know it's short, and insanely stupid. But you know, that's the way I write. Short and insanely stupid. Deal.  
  
  
She hadn't been sitting at her table for more than ten minutes when a tall, dark-haired man approached, pulling out the chair opposite of her for a seat. She calmly sipped her wine and pretended not to notice him. Truthfully, though, his piercing brown eyes bore into her very soul, or so it seemed. He looked like he was pretty damn good at his job.   
  
"Well, well, well," he said, his voice pure silk, soft enough to melt any unsuspecting lady he may meet. Part of his training, she mused. "So we finally meet, do we. I've been looking forward to this day for a long time, Miss."   
  
Slowly and deliberately, she drew in a long sip of the velvety wine and set the half-empty glass on the table gently. "I wish I could say the same," she said icily. "I'm not interested in making deals with you or any of your kind."   
  
He leaned forward, smile fading into a false look of hurt. "Come now, you haven't even heard my proposition," he said coolly. Yes, he was good at his job. That much was obvious. Cool, calculated.. just like all of them. Meeting one was like meeting any.   
  
She slowly let her jade eyes trace up his lean face to meet his own eyes. "Like I've told you and all of your other slimy friends. I have my own life to live and I don't want you or anyone else a part of it. Understand?"   
  
"Oh, I understand you perfectly," he said, pressing his fingertips together lightly, and spreading his thin lips into a somewhat sinister smile. "I think it's you who does not understand this situation."   
  
"How could I not? Your people come and pester me nearly everywhere I go," she replied harshly. "I am not a child. I know who you are, and I know what you could do. But I also know that you do not dare hurt me. You need me, and you need me alive."   
  
"All right." The young man leaned back, rubbing a hand through his short black hair. "All right, there's no dealing with you tonight," he murmured, half to himself. Then, his reddish brown eyes turned back to her. "Well, at least grace me with a dance before I call it a night. I can't have the night be a total loss, can I?"   
  
"You can and you will," she hissed. "Stop bothering me."   
  
He smiled enchantingly. "I'll stop bothering you only if you grace me with your presence on the dance floor." He held up his hands slowly. "What could I possibly do with all these people here?" One hand waved at the crowded dance floor just beyond them.   
  
She glanced at the people and sighed to herself. These men were persistant, she knew, and one of the reasons she was in a place like this anyway was because of the crowd. "One song," she said grudingly. "Then you leave me alone."   
  
Standing up, he bowed deeply. "Of course, my lady," he grinned disarmingly. Reaching his hand up, he took hers and lead her slowly out to the floor. Then, he slipped his hand about her waist and lead her in a slow waltz about the ballroom floor. He was an excellent dancer, leading perfectly in each step and not afraid of being close to his partner. Yet, she noticed he did not keep a tight grip on her like he would were he afraid of her escaping. She was far from trusting the man, but it comforted her to know that on any of the swing steps, she could easy slip into the crowd.   
  
Nearing the end of the song, he pulled her out of a spin and simply held her close, gazing intently into her eyes. She found she could not look away from that intense gaze, no matter how much she tried. Something in them, some part of them, she could see that he did not want to hurt her. It didn't even seem he wanted to be there with her, he did not want to do what he was doing. There was someone else, and this? A means to an end, she mused. Perhaps she had judged him rashly. Perhaps--   
  
Her thoughts broke as she felt the barrel of his gun slide up to her stomach. "Now are you ready to listen, Miss Gainsborough?"   
  
She blinked at him a moment, then smiled. "It seems that your reputation was right. You really are a bastard." She shook her head gently, her golden-brown locks shimmering in the dim light of the ball room.   
  
"I've been told," he said wryly. "Come now, Miss Gainsborough, Professor Gast misses you."   
  
Ifalna Gainsborough sighed to herself. She'd been caught. Caught by what had to be one of the sharpest Turks she'd ever met. She took another good look into those almond eyes, ingraining them into her memory.   
  
So this was the legendary Vincent Valentine. 


End file.
